“You’re still weaving enchanted plaids, Mum.” He sounded accusatory, even as he strove to soften his voice.

Mirin said nothing, but she held his gaze.

Her gift of weaving enchanted plaids was none other than the magic of the earth and water spirits: it began in the grass and the lochs, which gave the sheep sustenance, which trickled into the softness of their wool, which was sheared and spun and dyed into yarn, which Mirin took in her hands and wove upon her loom, turning a secret into steel. She was a vessel, a conduit for the magic, and it passed through her because she was devout. The spirits found her worthy of such power.

But that power came with a price. To weave magic drained her vitality. This truth had roused an icy fear in Jack’s chest when he was young and imagined her dying and abandoning him. He found that chill was even worse now that he was older.

“The clan needs them, Jack,” she whispered. “It’s my craft and my gift.”

“But it’s making you ill. Gods below, you have Frae now! What would happen to her if you passed?”

Would his sister be given to his care? Would she go to the orphanage in Sloane? The very place where Mirin had begun?

Mirin rubbed her brow. “I’m fine. Sidra has been providing me with a tonic that helps my cough.”

“Ceasing the enchantment is something you should be seriously considering, Mum. In addition to that, I think you should surrender this croft because of how close it is to the clan line, and move to the city where you’ll be saf—”

“I’m not giving up this croft,” his mother said. Her voice was like flint, slicing his words. “I earned this place. It’s mine, and it will one day be Frae’s.”

Jack exhaled. So Mirin was teaching Frae her craft of weaving. This day continued to get worse and worse, and he felt as if his fingers were tangling more threads than he could handle. “You haven’t taught her how to weave enchantments, have you?”

“When she comes of age,” Mirin snapped. He knew she was angry when she rose and began to extinguish the candlesticks on the mantle. Their conversation was over, and he watched the flames die beneath her fingertips, one by one. He wondered if she was regretting his visit.

I should have stayed on the mainland, he thought with an inner groan. But then he wouldn’t have known of Frae’s existence, or about the missing lasses, or how much the clan that had once shunned him as a bastard now needed him.

Mirin snuffed the last candlestick. Only the fire in the hearth remained, but she pierced Jack with a stare that made him freeze.

“Your sister has been very excited to meet you. Please be kind to her.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. Did Mirin think him a monster?